Throne World (Undying Mercenaries Book 21), page 20
“Why?” Sateekas demanded.
“Well, sir, because I know you rather well. I know your likes and dislikes—that kind of thing.”
“Is that so?” the Mogwa said. “What emotion do you think I’m feeling right now?”
“Uh…” I said, thinking it over. “Loathing, maybe? Disgust?”
“Precisely so!” Nox said. The female Mogwa advanced suddenly. She’d been listening but hadn’t said a word up until now. “Disgust! That’s the right term, McGill. The last time we were on a mission together, we were lured out into the frontier and beyond by that skulking deceiver, Winslade. You and Primus Graves connived by your own designs and destroyed the space cannon. That destroyed the coalition we’d worked so hard to support.”
“I’ve been hearing nothing but complaints about it since we left,” Sateekas added.
“Exactly,” Nox said. “According to every report I’ve read, this creature was instrumental in the destruction of the most valuable artifact found during that entire campaign.”
My mouth was gaping by this time. At the meeting where we’d hammered out the contract, Sateekas hadn’t bitched about me being there. So where was all this hate coming from now?
My eyes slid to Lady Nox, and they stopped there. She had to be the source of this hissy-fit.
“Hold on, overlords,” I said, daring to lift my hands again. My fingers spread wide.
The Mogwa troops again focused their cannons on me and my possibly dangerous hands. Remembering my manners, I let my arms slowly drop back down to my sides once more.
Then, I went into my usual denial speech. I regaled them with my “I-didn’t-do-nothing” excuse list.
For me, this recitation was well-rehearsed. I was like a musician playing his top hits long after he’s retired. Every word, every syllable, every utterance of dismay had been practiced hundreds—or maybe even thousands—of times.
Finally, Lady Nox accepted my apologies and the Mogwa VIPs passed us by. As they left, she said something about me not being allowed to get in her way again.
I assured the bitchy Mogwa princess I’d be as faithful as a church mouse and as quiet as a bear in the woods… or something to that effect.
-23-
When we were all outside in the courtyard, Sateekas took it upon himself to approach me.
“Of all the creatures to be assigned to my personal guard,” he began, “the last I expected was you, McGill.”
“Thank you, sir,” I responded, “I guess today is your lucky day!”
He glowered at me and shuffled his limbs in a restive manner. “I think you have possibly misconstrued my commentary.”
“And for that, I apologize deeply, Grand Admiral.”
“Whatever. I suppose one pack of armored human shields will serve as well as another.” After this rude statement, he turned to his Mogwa troops and gave stern orders. “Garrison commander, escort me and my family to the floater. You and your men will form an immediate ring around my vehicle. You will personally hold the tether.”
I frowned a bit at this conversation, wondering exactly what kind of vehicle this floater was going to be and why it had a tether. I was curious about it, I don’t mind telling you.
“The humans,” Sateekas continued instructing the commander, “will be arranged in a pattern around this central concentration of importance. It will be up to you how to deploy them, and you will bear full responsibility for any mishaps that arise from this tour.”
Lady Nox, was listening to all this, and she seemed disquieted.
“Sateekas,” she said sternly, “are you certain that this is a sane plan?”
“Of course, it is,” Sateekas said, “otherwise I would not have dared propose it.”
“But here we are, walking among the Nebrans. These people are the most dedicated of saboteurs.”
“That is precisely the point. They will not be expecting this tour de force. We have hired extra guardsmen. There should be no serious danger presented.”
“But you don’t know that. Here I am with my young…”
“Bah—all of them have been body-scanned.”
Lady Nox snarled at this. “Body-scanned, yes, and mentally stored. But I don’t want my children to experience their first death in the squalid streets of this rebellious shithole of a planet!”
I, for one, had to admit that Lady Nox had a point. Parading around a bit on a conquered planet, well, I could understand that. Sateekas could take that risk. Maybe his wife as well. But… the kids? That seemed like a step too far to me. Even if they were revived an hour later, it would have to be traumatic for a young child to experience violent death at the hands of rebels. I wouldn’t have chanced it if it were my family.
But old Sateekas was nothing if not an alien who consistently overestimated his odds of success in any endeavor. He seemed to take insult from his female’s lack of faith.
He straightened up to his full height—which wasn’t all that high. If the truth were to be told, as he was only a tad over a meter tall.
He spoke stiffly. “If your feminine fear overwhelms you, I will allow you and the younger children to retreat to our ship and huddle there, awaiting our return.”
Nox was offended, but she seemed to see the offer as an opportunity that was too good to be passed up.
“I will do just that,” she said, reaching down and grabbing the limbs of her two kids.
Sateekas, however, raised a foot-hand and bade her to stop.
“Hold,” he said. “You may take the pouchling and our daughter—but my son is destined for greater things. He can never be seen quailing from a confrontation. We have discussed this previously.”
“I don’t see how this minor grandstanding event will be meaningful. How can such a risky display make the slightest difference to our son’s career and eventual status? No Core World citizen has ever pondered this planet for an instant.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sateekas said. “For I have pondered this dirty orb at length. Experiences like this one are crucial to the development of a future tyrant. Our son needs to experience vicious peasantry, and he needs to greet such encounters with enthusiasm.”
Nox made a funny, windy sound. I figured it was a noise indicating disgust. She turned around, taking her daughter and her pouchling back inside.
Sateekas stood stiffly in her wake, looking annoyed. “If that female were not so comely and well-positioned in the social networks... Ah, but never mind. Come, son. It is time for us to tour this squalid city.”
Sateekas’ son, who all this while had been carefully watching the interaction between his parents, finally decided to speak up. “Will I get to see any of them die, Father?”
“Any of what?”
“The humans, Father—or possibly the Nebrans.”
Sateekas laughed. “It’s possible, son, it’s possible. I’m making no promises, but some sort of violent altercation is more than likely in this city. Come now, let’s head for the floater.”
Sateekas marched ahead then, followed by the Mogwa troops, who were in turn followed by my platoon of men.
The garrison commander gestured angrily for us to march in his wake. We did so, doing our best to line up and move our bodies in matching precision. We’d had plenty of practice marching around parade grounds, but it wasn’t really our strong point. Legion Varus was a combat outfit, much more than it was a color guard.
Once we were in position, a large floater descended into our midst. It was precisely as one might imagine: a bubble-domed platform, oval in shape.
The contrivance reminded me of nothing more than a turkey platter with a cover on top. The cover in this case, however, was transparent. You could only see a faint shimmer in the air where the forcefield enclosed the interior.
Suddenly, I understood the plan behind this coming fiasco. It seemed to me to be even more insane than I’d thought it would be the first time I heard about it.
The platform, which was about four meters long and three wide, was to be stood upon by Sateekas and his son. The two of them were enclosed underneath a protective barrier, which would at least deflect basic ballistic dangers—things like bullets.
Beneath the vehicle was a repelling glow that lifted the floater half a meter in height. That blue, shimmering region had anti-gravity forces at work. Intelligent repellers were operating in coordination to keep both the floater and its occupants from touching the dirt roads that we would be marching over.
I had a device like this of my own back home at Waycross. I used it as a coffee table. That unit, of course, was only about the size of a surfboard, but it had provided me a lot of entertainment over the years.
There was a tether attached to the front of the floater. Normally, these things used control wires and buttons to guide the craft. That’s how I would have done it if I were piloting it personally.
But no Mogwa overlord, especially not one so highly self-regarding as Sateekas, would be caught dead piloting his own vehicle. The grand admiral was content to allow the garrison commander to do the honors of dragging his floater through the city.
The tether wasn’t a simple rope, nor even a wire—it was an intelligent guidance device. I could tell this because the tether did not hang loosely. It didn’t dip down and touch the flagstones of the courtyard, even when the slack should have caused it to do so.
Instead, it wriggled around and lifted itself so as to avoid touching the earth. It was almost like a living snake of some kind instead of a simple rope or wire.
In addition to this, I got the distinct impression that it was terminated by some kind of control mechanism, which the garrison commander was able to manipulate as soon as he touched it. He caused the protective dome to completely enclose his two charges of importance, and then to slowly rotate them toward the gates. These movements were definitely not occurring because the garrison commander was dragging the vehicle around with a rope. He was directing it remotely.
“Primitives,” the garrison commander called out, “close ranks around your lord. Do not allow a single grunting peasant to approach. Cast aside any who do—and if they persist, cast aside their dead bodies instead.”
Impressed by this fierce order, my men gripped and re-gripped their rifles, wondering what they were in for. Sure, these skunks were small, but they were also tricky. I got the impression from the Mogwa commander’s attitude that he had no illusions as to the nature of these conquered people, either.
As the commander spoke, the forward gates swung slowly open. This was done through some means of automation, as I didn’t see anyone pushing on it.
At last, beyond the floater and squad of Mogwa soldiers that surrounded it, I could see the open city streets of Nebra City. It was my first glimpse at an actual habitation of any size and consequence built by these skunk-aliens.
Right off, I have to say I wasn’t impressed. It looked to me like something from an archaeological textbook. The buildings on either side of the street were built in a haphazard style. It seemed that a substance—I had to assume it was probably bricks made of mud—perhaps adobe baked in the sun, had been used in the construction process.
While the street itself was wide enough, much narrower, spoke-like streets went between the buildings on either side of us. That only made sense. These skunks probably wouldn’t need any street wider than two meters, given their own relatively small stature.
The main thoroughfare, however, was quite a bit larger, at least twenty meters wide. A throng of the locals was already there to greet us.
“Looks like they got out the welcoming committee, Centurion,” Veteran Washburn said. I could tell he was impressed.
I, however, was not.
I didn’t look at their waving paws, their seemingly happy smiles. They threw their arms high in the air as if cheering. They made odd warbling sounds in their inhuman throats as well.
It all sounded rather festive and inviting. There had to be a throng of close to a hundred of them directly in our path. They all seemed very excited to see us—and their conqueror on his floating platform.
“I don’t trust these fuzzy little bastards, McGill,” Carlos said to me.
“I hear you, Ortiz,” I said. “Washburn, you take the left flank. Walk up front, directly in front of the floater. I’ll take the right.”
I then called out a series of names, placing five more heavy troops between the two of us. I wanted a thick wall of marching metal-clad troops between Sateekas and the cheering crowd of diminutive natives. As we moved into this formation, the garrison commander made appreciative noises.
“Yes, yes!” he said. “That’s it! Sateekas has assured me that you primitives have the minds of killer-apes, as simple as beasts of the jungle. But you’re filled with a natural cunning for the tactics of the battlefield. Perhaps that high praise will be proven correct today!”
“I can assure you, sir,” I said, “Legion Varus will not disappoint.”
“See that you don’t.”
We took up our positions, making a firm wall between our charges and the adoring crowd. We began to march at last. We proceeded slowly but inexorably toward them.
Under most normal circumstances, a crowd of tiny creatures like this would have melted away upon our approach, but these skunk-aliens were persistent. They thronged us, running their tiny paws over our thighs and kneecaps. Some of them thrust things up to us, gifts, effigies of tiny skunk-shaped maidens, shiny cut-glass jewels—even food offerings in colorfully laid out dishes.
But then I saw something I liked even less than these others, none of which I trusted. I saw one of those blue flowers in the hands of one of the female aliens. She was offering it up to me, from both of her hands, toward my gauntlet. I reached out, grabbed the flower from her, and crushed it into a pulpy mass. The flower dribbled purple gooey juices onto the roadway.
She looked aghast. I then tossed it down and stomped on it with my right boot heel, crushing out the last of its juices. It left a dark stain on the dusty road.
The native looked shocked, horrified, and then angry. She showed me a flash of her sharp white teeth, and then she vanished into the throng again, from whence she’d come.
The aliens in general fell back before us. We moved slowly, attempting not to trample them. There was no need for bodily injury if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But then again, we weren’t taking any guff from these frisky fellows. We’d already seen what their gifts and their hospitality were worth.
So we nudged them away, knocking them in the chest with our metal-capped knee pads, slapping them lightly with the butts of our rifles until they staggered back, grabbing at their skulls.
But we didn’t crack any heads. We didn’t stomp upon their probing, clawed feet. We just kept marching and shoving until they fell back away from us.
After a couple of minutes of this, during which the alien throng was unable to penetrate past our retinue of guards to the Mogwa floater itself, the crowd suddenly relented. They fell back as if upon a silent signal. What had once been a street teeming with aliens was now rapidly emptying out.
“Looks like the sugary part of this welcome has ended,” I told my men.
“That’s right,” Carlos answered. “Now, they’re going to pull out something more spicy.”
I didn’t tell him to shut up because I figured he was probably right.
-24-
Once all the friendliness had drained out of the skunks, their true nature began to show. Instead of thronging us, casting flowers and other gifts, they began to slink away. The streets emptied, but I got the sense that they weren’t done with us yet.
I noticed a channel blinking on my HUD, and I engaged it. It was the Mogwa local channel, and I was able to overhear the voice of Sateekas as he was talking to his son. Despite the fact this was an official audio channel shared by a military team, it pretty much consisted of Sateekas giving a sermon.
We marched down the main thoroughfare without incident. But to me, things looked suspicious. These skunks were clearly planning an interruption of our little tour-de-force. Sateekas seemed oblivious to all this.
“You see, son,” he said, “first they thronged us with gifts of adulation. Now, that small crowd of peasants has given way to the larger populace, which is clearly cowardly in nature. They hide from us. They fear us—which is a very good thing. They—”
“Why is that a good thing, Father?” The impertinent son said, speaking up out of turn.
Sateekas paused, probably in annoyance. I could almost hear him shuffling his limbs around. When he was in the middle of a speech—which he pretty much always was—he didn’t like to be interrupted. But he seemed to make a special case for his son.
“A good question, which I shall indulge,” Sateekas said. “When creatures fear you, they tend to obey you more readily. They may also obey you when they feel slave-love. But which of these two emotions do you think is more likely to be forgotten when times are difficult?”
The kid thought that one over. “You mean like when we’re in the midst of a rebellion?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, of course, they would forget their love, not their fear.”
“Excellent!” Sateekas said. “Let that lesson sink in. It will guide you to a better future. A tyrant has to know these things.”
“Still…” the kid said, “it can be nice to be loved by your people.”
Again, Sateekas made that kind of growling, thumping, annoyed sound. “Disappointment. You’ve already made the logical leap to which of these two emotive responses is superior. Do not sully your mental advance with frivolous niceties. In the end, rulership is easy until it’s not. Everything we do as a ruler is in preparation for that moment of difficulty, which will always come in the end.”
“Whatever,” the kid said.
One more time, I heard Sateekas utter a near growl of frustration. I sensed that Nox was probably spoiling this boy. He had a bit of an attitude in him.
Every Mogwa had an attitude, mind you, and every human teenage kid did as well. I imagined this sort of thing pained Sateekas just as much as it had pained every father throughout time.
